Shotgun Blues: The Revenge Version
by Elianna22
Summary: Connor Pickett-Martin strikes back, with a little help from his friends. "Anyway, what's a wedding without a prank?" Farshad asked Connor.


**A/N: Hello again, dear readers : ) At a writing workshop I went to recently, the speaker emphasized that the main character should always have a goal behind his or her main goal. This story is about the goal behind the goal.**

**Disclaimer: As always, the Suite Life characters belong to Disney. The others belong to me.**

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**Shotgun Blues: The Revenge Version**

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_It's so hard to get old without a cause  
I don't want to perish like a fading horse  
Youth is like diamonds in the sun  
And diamonds are forever _

_Alphaville, "Forever Young"_

[-]

"Ugh," exclaimed Bailey Pickett-Martin, her mouth puckering as if she'd bitten into an onion. She frowned at the glass Woody had handed her. It was filled with a neon-green liquid and topped a parasol. "What the feathers _is_ this?"

"A Lime Sunset," said Woody Finkwright. "It's the cocktail Connor and Heather drank the night they met." He turned to Zack, holding out another glass. "Here, have a Conther."

Zack Martin accepted the murky blue concoction. "A Conther?"

"Simon designed it specially for the wedding," said Woody. "It's got Grey Goose vodka, which Connor likes, blue curaçao, which Heather likes, sweet and sour mix, and pineapple juice, which they both like."

Zack took a sip. The Conther was far too sweet for his liking. He would have preferred a beer.

"Simon has a genius for details," chirped Addison Finkwright, née Cartwright, sipping her own Lime Sunset.

"He certainly is a genius." Bailey's brown eyes shone as she gazed around the banquet room at the twists of green and white crepe decorating the doorways and tables, elaborate tulip centerpieces, and dancing couples. She sighed. "This is the most beautiful wedding I've ever been to."

Zack could not dispute this. Simon Fink and his team at Simon Says Party had transformed the South Clubhouse at Brentwood Country Club into a wedding wonderland. Adding to Simon's credibility as a top-rated event planner, the wedding itself had unfolded without a hiccup, from the ceremony, held outside in the cooperative April sunshine, to the five-course dinner, through to the speeches—the dullest part of any wedding, in Zack's opinion—and cake-cutting. The highlight of the speeches had been that of the best man, Farshad Nazarov. A scoundrel with charm to spare, Farshad had entertained the 150 guests with tales from his nineteen-year friendship with Connor, affectionately calling him his partner in crime and his Jiminy Cricket.

Woody looked toward the stage, where a jazz band grooved, pumping energy into the room. "Simon couldn't track down the band that played at the party where Connor and Heather met, but he put together the exact same playlist."

"This is his fifteenth wedding of the year," Addison said. "Did I mention he was just voted one of _L.A. Magazine_'s Top 30 Under 30?"

Zack and Bailey nodded. Addison had indeed mentioned this. Several times. The Finkwrights may have earned numerous accolades as the First Couple of Adult Entertainment, but their proudest accomplishment was unquestionably their son.

Tucking an arm around Addison, who had a figure like a voluptuous coat rack, Woody said, "Of course, we are a little disappointed that Simon doesn't want to take over the family business." They both shrugged, as if to say "Oh well, what can you do?"

"I'm just so glad Connor and Heather finally tied the knot," Bailey said, watching the newly-weds twirl on the dance floor. "Five years is an eternity to be engaged. I think I'm actually ready to be a Grammy." She took a mouthful of Lime Sunset and grimaced, the skin around her eyes crinkling. "Wow, it feels weird to say that out loud."

"They are an adorable couple," said Addison as Connor spun Heather in a circle, then clasped her to his chest and dipped her. "Simon still feels guilty for almost breaking them up at their Jack and Jill party all those years ago."

"He should," said Zack indignantly. Heartbreak was a rite of passage, as inevitable as taxes and being forced to eat Brussels sprouts as a kid, yet listening to Connor sob after the wretched party had tugged fiercely on his heartstrings. He would have given anything to crawl through the phone and comfort his little boy, even though he strongly disapproved of Connor rushing into marriage with a girl he had known for only six months. It had taken the couple a long time to weather the strain of Heather having a secret past. Seeing them now, smiling dreamily at each other, gave Zack a much-awaited sense of peace.

"Connor has _no_ reason to complain," Woody interjected, shaking his head so that brown curls covered his eyes. "So what if Heather did a few movies for Woodman Studios before she met him? She's extremely talented."

"Extremely," supplied Addison, nodding.

Woody nodded, too, with alarming enthusiasm. "That girl can suck a golf ball through a–"

Lime Sunset spurted from Bailey's mouth onto the front of Zack's blue Army dress uniform.

"Thank you for that, Woodmite," Zack said. He clapped a hand on Woody's shoulder. "Now why don't you go check out the dessert buffet?"

"Hurtful," exclaimed Woody. The porn mogul rubbed his biceps while Bailey continued to splutter. "You know buffets hurt my buffness."

"I'm sure you can make an exception just this once," Zack said pointedly.

Addison took the hint. "Come on, you big stud, a little sugar never hurt anyone," she said and began to drag Woody toward the spread of puddings and tarts that had materialized across from the bar. "Especially not me," she added, winking at her husband/business partner.

"Oooh, let me get that off your Purple Heart," Bailey cooed, taking a napkin from a nearby table. She dabbed at the splotches on Zack's chest, pausing to run her fingers over the row of medals that decorated Zack's left lapel. She lingered on the Purple Heart, tracing the ribbon and gold heart with a fingertip.

"I love my man in uniform," she said and sidled closer to him, so that her chin rested on his shoulder.

Zack brushed his fingers through the chestnut hair that hung to her shoulders in a glossy, blow-dried bob. "Lucky for me."

"You know," she said softly, "this kind of reminds me of our wedding."

Zack raised an eyebrow at her—his "sly-brow" face as the kids called it. "In what way?" he asked. "Nobody is wearing an Elvis costume, and the bride and groom are still dancing. On their feet."

Bailey smothered a giggle with her palm.

They could in fact have been at a high school dance, swaying under the stars on the _S.S. Tipton_, instead of at a snooty country club for their son's wedding. Their twenty-seven-year-old son. Zack gulped down the rest of the Conther. If he squinted, tilted his head just so, and tuned out the jazz, he could replace Bailey's matronly mauve wrap gown with a cute T-shirt dress. He could even see himself in the DJ booth howling away as Wolfman Zack, spinning the hits of yesterday, yesterday, and yesterday. Or was he Grandmaster Zack, kicking it old school with the wheels of steel?

Before he could decide, a short figure careened into his field of vision. A short figure sporting an untucked dress shirt and a very crooked necktie. Kieran, the baby of their brood, last seen playing tag in the lobby with his newest Tipton-Martin cousins, Chipo, Chuma, and Chenzira—triplets London had adopted from Zimbabwe.

"Woah." Kieran let out a shout as he skidded on a puddle of Lime Sunset, and Zack grabbed his armpits just in time to stop him from colliding with Bailey's legs.

"Having a good time, K?" he asked, hoisting Kieran into his arms.

The seven-year-old nodded. Chocolate sprinkles crusted one corner of his mouth—evidence of a visit to the dessert buffet. His mouth opened then, displaying the gap where until last week his two front teeth had been, and he yawned expansively.

Bailey licked her thumb and rubbed the sprinkles from Kieran's mouth. "I guess I should take him up to our suite," she said with a small sigh. "It's way past his bedtime."

"No," Kieran protested, even as his head slumped to Zack's shoulder.

Zack scanned the crowd, his brain racing for an alternative. The reception had segued into what he thought of as no man's land—the in-between stage when guests who were not inclined to party started to drift away, and those who were inclined to party swarmed to the bar for their fourth, fifth, or tenth round.

_Bingo_, he thought when he spotted Shilah standing at the edge of the dance floor with Stella, the oldest of Cody and London's children.

It gave him a pang to see Shi—lanky eighteen-year-old Shi—looking like a willowy blonde in her light-green bridesmaid dress, with her hair done up in a complicated swirl. The dress had short puffy sleeves and a low-cut neckline that showed off more of her shoulders and sternum than Zack would have liked. A lot more. But since when did the father of the groom have a say in what the bridesmaids wore? Since never. Thus he had to content himself with shooting death-ray glares at any male eyes that roved in the direction of his daughters.

He carried Kieran over to Shi and Stella, a regal, raven-haired beauty with sculpted cheekbones and a haughty expression that telegraphed, "I am better dressed than all of you. Including the bride."

"Shi, honey, can you take you brother to Aunt London and Uncle Cody's floor at the hotel," he said smoothly. London had brought a fleet of nannies to look after the youngest Tipton-Martins. "Your mom and I have to go meet and greet some late arrivals."

"Really?" Shi's dubious tone suggested she was trying to assess whether he was asking her or telling her.

"I'll go with you," Stella jumped in. With a disdainful sweep of her hand, she gestured to her dress, a crimson floor-length garment covered with ruffles and bows. "I've been wearing this outfit for, like, five hours. It's _so_ time to change."

Zack rolled his eyes. London, all over again. "Where's Mel?" he asked Shi, glancing about for her bubbly, brunette look-alike.

Shi shrugged, her puffed sleeves rustling. "I don't know, I haven't seen her for a while. Should I use my twin telepathy to find her?"

"She's probably out playing golf," said Bailey.

The doors had been opened, letting in a cool evening breeze and shouts of laughter from the putting green.

Kieran yawned again, his eyelids drooping lower and lower.

"Fine, let's go," Shi relented.

"Good night, sweetie." Bailey kissed Kieran's forehead, and Zack tousled his shaggy blond hair before setting him on the floor.

Shi took Kieran by the hand and the three of them turned to leave, with Stella's bodyguard, a stone-faced woman who had at least two dangerous bulges under her uniform, following at a measured pace.

"The night is young," Zack announced to Bailey once they were out of earshot. He drew her to him and grazing her cheek with his lips, he murmured huskily, "And so are we."

Bailey's girlish giggle made his stomach tingle. "Well, forty-five _is_ the new thirty," she said. A flirtatious smile played on her lips, as beestung and Botox-free as the day Zack met her.

The music hummed and swelled, a silky fusion of jazz and techno beats.

"Nice music," he said.

"Yeah, I like it, too."

Bailey moved her chin back to Zack's shoulder as they rocked together, their arms around each other.

"Hey, this place is a clubhouse," he remarked as if the fact had occurred to him at just that moment.

Bailey followed his eyes to the staircase that led to the lower level. "Didn't Simon point out some change rooms downstairs when he gave us that tour yesterday?"

_Yep, we're on the same page. _"Rings a bell."

"Do you want to...?" She held his gaze lingeringly.

"Meet you down there? Men's room. Five minutes."

Bailey flashed a saucy, I-know-what-you're-thinking grin. "Make it ten."

Her fingers slipped through his, gave his hand a parting squeeze, and then she disappeared, swallowed up by dancing bodies.

The staircase was on the other side of the room. Zack began to skirt the perimeter, passing Cody who was talking to Heather's parents—about investment strategies, no doubt. Cody had helped them rebuild their finances after a stock market crash wiped out their savings, spurring a cash-strapped Heather to seek employment with Woodman Studios. Good old Cody, always willing to lend a hand to the tired, the poor, the huddled masses.

The only other people Zack recognized were Peter, the man of honour, who was dancing with his partner, and a few of Connor's coworkers from the Tipton Martin Foundation for World Peace, where Connor was in charge of fundraising initiatives for the West Coast. Everyone else blended into an amorphous cast of characters populating the life Connor had built for himself in Los Angeles.

[***]

Four minutes later, Zack sauntered through the men's change room, breath freshly sprayed, his pulse speeding with anticipation.

As he approached the showers, a bank of eight stalls, each with its own curtain, he heard a giggle.

A soft, inviting giggle.

Very feminine.

Coming from the furthest stall.

_I knew it_, crowed his libido triumphantly. _I knew she'd get down here first._

"Hey, sweet thang."

Bailey's mouth greeted him with a devouring kiss. A second later she was in his arms and they nearly stepped on one another's feet as they half-dragged, half-pushed each other into a corner of the stall.

"I was waiting for you," she said between kisses. She smelled of Vanilla Musk, the only perfume he could tolerate because it was utterly, quintessentially _her_.

"Yeah, I know." He couldn't keep the pride from his voice—_of course she was_. He clutched the fabric of her gown, untied the knot on her left hip that held it together and unwrapped his wife, so he could drink in the allure of her black satin bra and matching panties. He'd watched her put them on while they were getting dressed in their hotel suite that morning. No chance to grope and play with Kieran in the adjoining bedroom. But now...

Her mouth found his again, and his hands found the soft, yielding flesh of her buttocks and thighs. Three pregnancies had widened her curves, made her voluptuous. More cushion for the pushin', he liked to say.

Which they would soon be doing, judging from the speed with which she was undoing the buttons on his white dress shirt. Her fingers skimmed over his abdomen, still flat thankfully, and decently muscled. Already she'd pulled off his coat and laid it on the bench in the stall.

Bailey came up for air just as he'd wrestled her pantyhose down to her knees. "How naughty are we?" Her lips puffed out, her smile wicked and endearing. "Sneaking off for a quickie at our son's wedding?"

"It doesn't have to be just a quickie."

Her eyes glimmered up at him in the low yellowish light. "People will notice if we're gone."

"No," he said, "they won't." Nuzzling her neck, the dip between her breasts, he murmured, "Today isn't about us."

But it was clear to him then that everything about today—the ceremony, Connor and Heather saying their vows, the tedium of mixing, mingling and all those speeches—had been building up to this sweaty, panting encounter, to the two of them grappling together like hormone-frenzied teenagers in the backseat of a car. If they'd actually been in a backseat, the windows would have been completely steamed.

"I'll wait for you," Bailey had said on such a night, parked by a lake near Landon Academy, a few months after he'd left Seven Seas High. She ran her hands over his shorn cadet hair. "Until we're done school. Until you're out of the army. I'll always wait for you, Zack Martin."

How he had wanted to believe her, in spite of the towering odds, the future rushing at them, how he had longed to believe those words. He could taste the longing even now, with her arms tight around his neck and their tongues crammed into each other's mouths, the inside of her mouth cocktail-sweet like fruit and honey. And the joy, hard-won and enduring, both of them affirming that they still _were._

"You know what?" Bailey put her foot up on the bench, stable in her shiny black flats, grabbed onto his belt and started to unbuckle it. "_Tonight_ is all about us." She reached down, reaching for his erection. "Now make love to me, you hot sexy soldier."

A redundant request, since he'd had the erection practically since Shi and Kieran had left, but as ever, gratifying to hear. Gratifying, also, to feel her whole body pushing into him as he swept aside her panties and buried himself inside her, ecstasy to feel her sliding around him and her lips trembling against his.

The rhythm stopped when Bailey broke off a kiss. "Did you hear something?" she asked.

"Huh?" All Zack could hear was his heartbeat and the jagged sounds of their breathing.

"I thought I heard something." Her head cocked to the side. "Like a giggle."

"Well, this _is_ a bathroom," he pointed out. "At a wedding."

Bailey threw her head back, as much as she could pressed up against the wall, and moaned theatrically. "Let's show them how it's done."

Another memory resurfaced, fuzzy, fleeting—and oddly—of a beer commercial he'd seen years and years ago. A young couple locked in a steamy embrace while the voiceover claimed that the best sex a guy would ever have would be with his wife.

The slogan came to him: _We've been waiting for you._

"I said," Bailey's voice dropped to sultry growl, "let's show them how it's done."

Zack had no problem with that. "How Mrs. Latex of you."

Her hands went to his shoulders and his spread out under her buttocks. She moaned again, almost a roar, and he felt her competitive streak kicking in with gusto. Her drive to outdo others had never bothered him. It was, in fact, one of the sexiest things about her.

Bailey's fingers dug into his back. Her hips jerked, tugging him deeper into her, deeper into the centre of their own private universe.

"I'm close," she strained, her breath tickling his ear. Every time, she let him know. As if he'd ever forget how to read the signals of her most intimate muscles. "So close."

Zack was close, too. He held onto his wife's hips, breathless, both of them surging toward that hyper-real moment of oneness, the delicious certainty of release.

"Babe–"

"I, _Zack_, oh– "

Into the silence between their moans came an explosion of cries.

"Oh, Heather, I love it when you shove that big thing in me."

_Slap. Slap._ "Yeah, baby, you're my bitch."

"Damn, Farshad, I love it when you do that thing with your tongue."

Mumbling ensued.

Bailey froze and Zack froze inside her, as though the two of them had been doused with concrete.

Connor and Heather... and Farshad?

"Oh yeah, don't stop, I love it."

"Come on, baby, I love you so much, Connor." _Slap. Slap._

Mumble. Mumble.

Blood began to pump Zack back to reality. Nausea churned like a helicopter rotor, much like when he tried deep-fried butter balls at the State Fair of Texas. Balls. He cringed at the thought. The ache had already set in, dull and throbbing.

"Oh my God." Bailey sagged under his arms. The flush had drained from her cheeks, her eyes gone dark, almost sunken. When their bodies separated, Zack winced at the discomfort—it was like pulling out of a sandpaper tube. He wanted to hold her up in case she collapsed, but his limbs were slack from the scourge of unspeakable images blasting apart the euphoric daze and all that had been good today.

"Oh wow, oh yeah, baby."

"Yeah, just like that."

The images grew more unspeakable.

_Well, this _is_ a bathroom. At a wedding._

But Connor and Heather... and_ Farshad_?

"I think I'm going to be sick." Bailey's voice cracked. She put a hand to her mouth, stumbling from the bench.

Zack caught her just in time, summoning the reserves of strength that never let him down, the ability to flip an internal autopilot switch no matter what havoc was going on around him. It had saved his life before and it would save them now.

"Let's get out of here, go back to the hotel. We'll get a cab and just go. Forget this ever happened." He spoke low and fast as he organized their clothes into reasonable order. "Even if it costs us the entire mini-bar, we'll forget this night ever happened. And first we'll stop at the open bar on our way out."

She nodded, mutely, letting him take control. He could see it in her eyes. He was trained to deal with crises. This was a crisis.

He pushed aside the shower curtain, his vision tunnelling straight ahead to the door. The escape route was clear. No side-to-side glances needed.

"Go, go, go." He took her hand and they ran for it.

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The door slammed. Farshad poked his head around the edge of the shower curtain.

"OK, they're gone," he reported.

Connor staggered out of the stall after him, Heather on his heels, all three of them convulsing with laughter.

"Best wedding prank _ever_," he choked out. He held up his hands and Heather and Farshad high-fived him. With their pink faces and glassy eyes, they looked as drunk as he felt. Not slobbering, won't-remember-any-of-this-tomorrow drunk, but buzzed enough to laugh like kids high on sugar.

"I am never going to be able to look my folks in the eye again," he said, wiping tears from his eyes with the sleeve of his tux.

"Wouldn't be the first time," Heather snorted and dissolved into another mad fit of giggles.

"Ah, they deserved it." Farshad rinsed saliva off his hand at the sink. "Anyway, what's a wedding without a prank?"

"Sounds like something my dad would say." Laughter bubbled up again, flattening a small spike of guilt. "Man, you guys are the best."

Farshad dried his hands on a fluffy towel. "Well," he said after several moments, "I'm going to go see what Mel is up to."

Connor felt his brows lift, but his eyes snagged on the sight of Heather adjusting her cleavage above the close-fitting bodice of her wedding gown.

Had she ever looked more beautiful?

"Dude, your wife's hot," said Farshad, reading Connor's thoughts.

The observation earned him a slap upside the head.

"OK, OK, I'm going."

Once the door had closed behind Farshad, Connor leaned against it and turned to his bride.

She smiled at him. Luscious, forever-his Heather.

_Tonight_, he thought as he took a step closer to her and her arms opened to him, _is going to be one of the greatest nights of my life_.

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**A/N: Judging from feedback on the original version, published in October, an ending like this would not have been remiss, so I decided to write one. This story is an extra, not part of the series storyline. The beer commercial was for Carlsberg, and the full tagline was "Welcome to your Carlsberg years. We've been waiting for you." On a more serious note, what was the goal behind the goal—not for Connor, but for Zack and Bailey? Reviews and replies will be rewarded with a gigantic virtual chocolate chip cookie. Xoxoxo – Ellie**

**For an extra cookie, a very famous poem is quoted in this story. Any guesses?**


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